Perfect Shining Dark
by Jade Nolan
Summary: An AU where Mac stays in Chicago and joins the CPD instead of going to New York - When a killer with a warped sense of justice and punishment starts targeting the families of Mac's fellow Chicago police officers, he must find a way to protect his own family and bring in the killer, without losing his own life or that of Claire and his kids in the process.
1. Chapter 1

_Thanks for reading! Please review :)_

**Chapter 1**

"Daddy!"

"Hey munchkin!" Mac said as he unbuckled his belt and hung it in the closet. He swung Emily up as she came running to meet him. "How's my big girl?"

"Good," Emily said, resting her hands on his shoulders. She looked him square in the eye, and asked quite solemnly, "Did you catch the bad guys today, Daddy?"

Mac gave a little laugh, "Yes I did."

Emily nodded in satisfaction, her big green eyes, framed by brown curls, very round and serious. Then her face lit up as she remembered something, "Guess what we got in school today, Daddy?"

Judging from the god-awful screeches that were emanating from the bedroom Emily shared with her twin sister, Mac already had a fair idea. "Why don't you run and show me," he said.

"Okay," Emily gave an excited wriggle in his arms, and Mac set her down. She dashed off down the hallway.

Mac sighed as the sound of cats being killed suddenly doubled.

Claire came around the corner. "They're your daughters, Mac," she said.

"Half mine," he corrected, untying his boot laces and tossing his uniform shirt on the corner chair. "They're half yours too." He straightened back up. They both glanced despairingly down the hallway.

"Recorders," Claire sniffed, "I don't know _what_ their teacher was thinking, giving 4-year olds recorders." She turned back towards Mac, "How was your day?"

"Busy. Very, very busy. It starts warming up and the whole city explodes! _And_ I had to spend the last five hours of my day in court. I hate going to court and playing their stupid mind and word and political games," he continued in a rebellious tone of voice.

Claire kissed him, "I know you do. I was wondering about the uniform. Well, at least you managed to get off on time."

"Barely," Mac told her. "I slid out right as another call was coming in. Kinda felt bad just leaving, but I would have been there all night if I had stayed."

Claire gave him a look. "I'm glad you didn't," she said.

Mac grinned at her, "I had a feeling you wouldn't be too happy about it if I had. Besides," he gave another glance down the hallway, "How could I miss the 'serenade' of such wonderful music…?"

Claire laughed, "How indeed?" She gave him another kiss. "I'm going to get dinner going. Should be ready in about 45 minutes."

Mac nodded and meandered his way to their bedroom. Emily had apparently become sidetracked by competing with Brianna on who could screech the loudest, and hadn't come back. Mac finished changing out of his uniform and put on a pair of tattered jeans and a faded t-shirt. Returning back out to the living room he went over to where Liam was happily surveying his surroundings from his battery-powered swing. Mac crouched down next to him. "How do you put up with that?" he asked him, as the twins continued blithely murdering an entire neighborhood of cats.

Liam kicked his feet and waved his fists in the air.

"So it _does_ drive you nuts!" Mac said.

Liam babbled something at him.

"I'm sorry bud. I'd bust you out of here, really I would," Mac said. He picked Liam up out his swing and lounged back on the couch with him. He whispered conspiratorially in his baby son's ear, "It's just you and me against the rest of them," he said, indicating Claire and the two girls. "We're outnumbered and they're sneaky. We gotta pick our time and place."

Liam lay on Mac's chest and babbled happily back at him.

Mac grinned.

"Who's sneaky and who's outnumbered?"

Mac jumped as Claire appeared over the back of the couch. "Nothing, darling… dearest… sweetpea…" he flustered.

"Uh-huh," Claire said, entirely unconvinced at his attempt at innocence. "I'm watching you," she said. "And you," she continued, pointing at baby Liam, "I know you're in cahoots with him and whatever it is he's planning, so don't even try to pretend you're not!"

Mac tried to look positively angelic. "Me? Us?" he asked.

"Yes. You." Claire said. The pre-heat timer on the oven beeped, and Claire headed back to the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder and pointed at her eyes with two fingers and then indicated the pair of them, silently mouthing, "_I'm watching you_."

Mac grinned.

"DADDY LOOK!"

Mac jumped for the second time in five minutes. Emily and Brianna were standing next to the couch waving their recorders only inches from his face.

"Daddy look! See?"

Mac blinked as the whirling sticks of plastic nearly took off his nose. He held up his hand and gently pushed them to a less precarious distance.

"It's a recorder, Daddy!" Brianna said animatedly.

"I see!" Mac said._ How could he have missed it?_ he thought wryly. "Can you play anything on them?" he asked, regretting every word of his question as he asked it.

"Uh-huh!" said Emily.

"But not _very_ good yet," Brianna added.

_At least they had that part right,_ Mac thought with a mental cough. "What can you play?" _Dammit…!_

"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," Emily told him.

"Would you like to show me?" _Dammit!_

The twins nodded proudly.

Mac braced himself.

Liam froze, startled, and his eyes got very big at the sudden explosion of shrieky noise that was this time right next to him. The twins blew away blithely and loudly on their recorders to some sort of random rhythm, their fingers moving frantically and landing on anything but the holes.

Mac tried to keep his mental wincing out of his face as 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' went on for many more verses than he ever remembered it having. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Claire standing around the corner, shaking with silent laughter.

Finally the little star twinkled itself out with a dramatic flourish, and Mac resisted the urge to rub his ringing ears. Liam was still staring in apparent shocked horror. Mac stifled laughter at his son's wide-eyed look.

"How was that, Daddy?" Emily literally bounced.

Mac fought to keep his face serious and neutral. He saw Claire slide down the wall she was laughing so hard. He'd get her back later. "That was wonderful," he said to the girls. "Why don't you put those away for now and practice more tomorrow." He gave Claire a vindictive grin as she shook her head emphatically at him, mouthing the word "_No!_" at this last suggestion. He nodded his head solemnly and silently returned, "_Oh yes!_"

**Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Three hours later all the little terrors were in bed and at least _supposed_ to be asleep, although Mac had a sneaky suspicion the twins were still awake and whisper-conspiring together. But at least the house was quiet. He sprawled on the couch, absently playing with Claire's hair as she lay next to him, head on his shoulder. The TV was on some show she followed that Mac had no clue about. But he didn't care. He loved these moments. All the responsibility and stress of work disappeared, and he could forget other things too. Deeper, darker things. Or at the very least, they took on a different perspective.

"Do you have to work tomorrow?" he asked Claire.

She shook her head, "Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday."

"Oh that's not too bad," Mac said. "And I'm off Friday as well, so that works out great. Do the twins have pre-school that day?"

Claire nodded, "It's their 9-3 day too."

Mac grinned, "Well this just keeps getting better and better. I think we might have to go do something."

Claire looked up at him, eyes dancing. She was about to reply, when the doorbell rang. Mac glanced down at his watch. It was 9:30pm.

"What the hell?" he said. He met Claire's eyes, and she shrugged her shoulders, as puzzled as he was.

Mac pushed himself off the couch and walked towards the front door, retrieving his gun out of its holster on the way. He held it loosely down at his side, hidden just behind his leg. He peered through the peephole, keeping his body perpendicular to the door. It was both comforting and sad the way he so easily was put on alert. On the one hand she knew that if there was any ounce of life left in him, nothing would be allowed to come between him and them, even if it meant losing that life. But while that fierce protection towards his family and those around him was simply a part of his character, Claire hated seeing him slide so completely and without thinking about it, into 'combat' mode. Not because it was ever misplaced or in the wrong context, but because of the representation of what he'd gone through to get to where he was. As much as he'd told her over the years, she knew full well that there were dark places in his mind which were still shrouded in secrecy, and the pain which still crept into his eyes at times made her heart ache.

Then Claire saw his body relax and his mind slide back out of the hyper-vigilant mode it had instantly and instinctively slipped into. Mac shoved his gun into the back waistline of his jeans and pulled his t-shirt over it as he slid the bolt back and opened the door. It was his partner from work. "Mitch! What's up?" Mac asked, gesturing the man inside with a smile.

Mitch stepped through the door. "Hey Mac!" he answered. "Hi Claire!"

Claire smiled and waved at him from the couch, "Hi Mitch!"

Mac turned and headed back to the living room, motioning Mitch to come with him. "Come on, come in. Sit down!"

But Mitch laid a hand on Mac's arm. Mac turned, and froze at the look on Mitch's face. It was more serious and somber than Mac had ever seen him.

"I gotta talk to you," Mitch said quietly.

"What's going on?" Mac asked, a horrible, sinking feeling creeping into his stomach.

"You know that call, that tip, that came in _right_ as you were leaving?"

"Yeah," Mac answered slowly, the feeling working its way into his chest.

"Abby's working tonight so I stayed on. It was a hang-up from a disposable cell so it took us a while to track it down," Mitch paused, collecting himself, his voice almost shaking. "He got to us, Mac. He actually did it."

Mac's body went cold, and that sinking feeling turned into a knife. "Who is it?" he breathed, not wanting to know.

Mitch swallowed hard, "Gasecki. They just found his wife and kids. I'm on my way to the scene."

The knife stabbed hard under his ribs, and Mac closed his eyes.

From the couch, Claire watched the exchange between the two men. She couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but Mitch looked almost pale. Then she saw Mac's back go rigid, and knew something was wrong. Mac nodded at Mitch and turned back towards her. His lips were pressed tight together and his eyes flashed with barely contained fury.

"Mac?" she asked.

He shook his head as he walked over to her, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I have to go in." He leaned down to where she was still sitting on the couch and kissed her. "I'm going to go quick change."

Claire nodded, and Mac disappeared down the hallway. She looked over at Mitch who was still standing by the doorway. "You really can come in," she said. "I won't kill you for stealing him. Yet."

Mitch gave a little laugh and sat in the chair opposite the couch.

"I don't suppose there's any point asking what's going on?" Claire queried.

Mitch shook his head, "It's a case we've been helping out with, but I'm sure you've already guessed that. And believe me," Mitch leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and face very serious, "You do _not_ want to know more than that right now."

Claire looked at him searchingly. She was quite used to not knowing the specifics of what Mac did at work. They had met and gotten married when he was still in the Marines and a SpecOp recon unit on top of that, and compared to not even knowing where exactly on globe he was at any given moment, non-specifics about the cases he worked was no stress in the slightest. Still, to bring about the looks and body language Mac and his partner were sharing, whatever had happened, was no small thing.

Just then Mac emerged from the bedroom. He had dark, loose-fitting jeans and a layered t-shirt and pullover on, his vest between the two. He clipped his badge and gun to his belt. "You ready?" he asked Mitch.

Mitch stood up, "Yep."

Claire walked Mac to the door. She reached a hand to his face. "Be careful," she told him seriously.

Mac kissed her gently. He knew she wasn't saying the habit phrase of all who had family work in emergency services echoed. Claire didn't worry over him, and it was one of the things he loved the most about her. "I will be," he said. "I'll call you when you get up in the morning."

Claire nodded, and Mac followed Mitch out into the night and to the gut-wrenching crime scene that awaited them.


	2. Chapter 2

_Next installment finally! Thanks for reading, and please review! :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Mac did not, if ever, get unsettled going to calls. He'd seen far too much for anything to faze him ahead of time. There were the cases that were particularly wrong or disturbing or emotionally taxing for whatever reason that would stick with him. He'd handled child murders, abuse cases, senseless violence of every sort seemingly, but such things came with the job. Every first responder dealt with it. Everyone who wore a uniform in service had those sorts of calls and carried ghosts. It was just a matter of how one dealt with it. Those who couldn't, didn't last and moved on to other professions. It wasn't bad or wrong if someone couldn't cut it for those reasons. Very few people actually could, and it just served to bring the ones who stayed on the frontlines of the city, that much closer. But riding with Mitch to the Gasekis' house, Mac found himself truly dreading the impending scene.

"Do you know who's being assigned lead on the case?" Mac asked his partner.

Mitch shook his head, "I don't know. Someone from Major Case I'm sure. I mean, for now it's us, but I wouldn't have even been helping track down the call if the guy hadn't also specifically mentioned Narcs in his brief message before he hung up. Why?"

Mac didn't say anything. He just gazed out the window as the red line train rumbled its way over top of them.

"You want it, don't you," Mitch said, glancing over at his partner. Mac looked over at him, eyes hard and cold as steel.

"Yes."

Mitch shook his head. "You know that probably isn't going happen, Mac. They're not going to hand this case out of their division, especially since it involves one of their detectives. Even if you were there for five years. Besides, they're going to say your friendship with Kevin is a conflict of interest."

Mac set his jaw and returned to staring out the window.

Mitch glanced back over at him. Mac was one of the subbornest partners he'd ever worked with. Not in a bad or irritating way, but if the man got a particular motivation to do something, nothing was going to stand in his way. "You're still going to go for it, aren't you," Mitch said.

"Yes," Mac replied, his eyes glinting dangerously.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Kevin Gaseki and his family lived about ten miles further north out of downtown Chicago than Mac, and it only took them 20 minutes to pull up, the neighbourhood fairly lit with blue and red flashing lights. Mac stepped out of the car. A slight breeze ruffled his hair, but the night air was still hot and humid, and beneath his bullet-proof vest he felt beads of sweat start tracing along his spine and down the small of his back to where the waistline of his jeans slouched low on his hips. He pushed the sleeves of the thin, black t-shirt he had put on over his vest, to above his elbows. Mitch walked around the car to join him, and the two detectives approached the house which was completely cordoned off with yellow police tape. The officer guarding the entrance to the scene took in the badges and guns on their belts, and lifted the tape, letting them through.

A uniformed sergeant met them on the front porch. Despite the shifting, coloured light from the police cars, he looked incredibly pale and his face was stamped with emotion and a horror he couldn't begin to put into words. He stood in the doorway and opened his mouth to try to tell Mac and Mitch was inside, but simply closed it again.

"Why don't you show us, Sergeant," Mac said in understanding.

The officer nodded and led them up the old, wooden stairs that were just inside the front door.

The first bedroom they came to, belonged to Gaseki's eight year-old daughter. She was still lying in bed, a single bullet wound to her left temple, her pillow and mattress down to her chest, soaked in blood. Mac preferred not to know how much, or little, of the right side of her head was still intact. Her pink, princess nightlight still turned on its base casting its warm, happy light across the walls, the contrast with the scene in front them eerie and surreal. Mac felt like he'd choke on the disgust and anger that boiled through him.

"That's not the worst of it, detectives," the sergeant told them quietly. "This way."

He took them down the hall to the bedroom Gaseki and his wife shared, along with their baby's crib. Mac found himself not wanting to go in. Steeling himself, he pushed the door open.

It was all he could do not to turn and walk out. Gaseki's wife had been holding their baby when they had both been shot close-range with a shotgun. The blast had ripped through her neck at an upward angle, nearly taking her head completely off. But worse than that, she had been holding their baby to her chest and his head had been directly in the line of fire. In fact, Mac was willing to stake everything he had, that their criminal had purposefully angled the shot so he could take them out both at once. They were now lying across the corner of the bed, blood sprayed all over the wall behind them, the baby still on the wife's chest and her arms locked around what was now left of him.

Mac felt physically ill.

"Where's Kevin?" Mitch asked the sergeant, forcing his voice to work.

"I don't know. We haven't been able to get a hold of him."

Mac couldn't look at the scene any more. All he could see was Claire and little Liam in the faces of Gaseki's wife and baby. He turned, and leaned his hands against the doorframe of the bedroom, head down, chest hammering and painfully tight. The room spun.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "You alright?" Mitch asked him gently.

Mac took a shaky breath and straightened up. "Yeah," he said, sternly marshaling his cascading thoughts. "It's just…" he looked, stricken, back towards the blood soaked bed and then at his partner.

"I know," Mitch said quietly. It was bad enough he was envisioning coming home to find Abby murdered in a bloody mess, and they weren't married yet nor had kids. He couldn't imagine the empathetic, raw pain Mac was feeling.

Mac pressed his lips together, and firmly blocked out the image of Liam, lifeless and still. He turned back around. "Do you know when ETU is getting here?" he asked.

The sergeant shook his head again, "Should be any minute."

Then they all turned as shouts and comotion suddenly came from outside, one voice in particular raising above the rest.

"Kevin," Mac breathed, and headed down the stairs two at a time, Mitch close behind him. He dashed out the front door to where Kevin was being held back from coming in, by two fellow officers. He waved them off, and grabbed Kevin by the shoulders.

But nothing but pure, desperate panic poured off his friend, and Kevin struggled to get out of Mac's firm hold. "NO! Let me go! It's my family in there! Where's Kate and kids? Please tell me it's not them! Let me go!"

"Kevin! Kevin! Look at me. Look at me!" Mac struggled to keep his own emotion in check as he gave Kevin a firm but gentle shake. "Look at me," he said again, quieter.

Kevin shifted his head to Mac's gaze. His eyes brimmed as his ability to deny the horrible truth disappeared. "Let me in, Mac. Please. Please tell me it's not them," he pleaded in a barely audible voice.

Mac swallowed the catch that was in his own throat. "You don't want to go in," he said quietly.

Kevin grew very still as his face melted into pain beyond imagining. "Kate? …. Aubrey? … Zach?" he asked in a strangled whisper.

Mac simply shook his head, unable to trust his voice.

Kevin slowly sank to his knees, tears escaping down his face as his mouth moved in wordless, unspeakable grief. Mac dropped to his knees as well, all but holding up his stricken friend. The two men knelt on the small patch of grass that offered a splash of green in the midst of concrete, brick and asphalt, and Kevin crumpled against Mac's shoulder, unable any longer to hold himself up. Mitch and the other officers stood in hushed silence as they witnessed the instantaneous demolition of one of their fellow officer's lives.

Time seemed to stand still, and an eerie still filled the air. Mac felt the warm, night breeze gust through his hair and across his face, ever so slightly cooling him off as beneath his flack vest, his now soaked t-shirt, clung to his damp body. The red and blue flashing lights from the police cars that lined the street, continued their constant, undulating rhythm. He heard the familiar sound of distant sirens, as elsewhere in the city, the unrelenting pace of life and tragedy and conflict and violence continued.

Kevin took a shuddering breath and raised his head off Mac's shoulder. His eyes were red and swollen and very far away, his face one of abject hopelessness, and he slowly stood to his feet. Mac's stomach sank as a horrible feeling washed across him.

"Kevin, no. Don't do it."

But Kevin just shook his head and reached his hand behind his back as he took a couple steps backwards toward the street. "It's my fault," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's my fault they're dead."

The silent tension in the air fairly crackled. Mac's hand drifted towards the gun on his hip. Behind him, Mitch copied his partner's move.

"It's my fault," Kevin said again. He went very still. Then in one motion he pulled his gun from the back waistline of his shorts.

"NO!" Mac shouted, raising his hand, helplessness at the inevitability of the situation twisting his insides.

But a single shot rang out before his hand had reached the level of his shoulder, and Kevin dropped to the ground, the left side of his head blown out from the bullet he had fired into his right temple.

Mac turned his head and squeezed his eyes closed.

The police lights continued their faithful patterns, but Mac no longer felt the summer breeze that tried to lift his damp hair off his neck and forehead as Kevin Gaseki joined his family in a pool of blood.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**_ not much preface to this one, except that particularly given how AU this story is, all but original CBS characters are mine.__ Oh, and 'ETU' stands for 'Evidence Technician Unit' - in other words, the CSI of Chicago. Thanks for reading and please review! :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

His shadow danced in front of him, bouncing from side to side in time to the emergency lights. Mac's mind spun, and struggled to come up with a coherent thought. He felt as though he couldn't breathe.

Mitch stepped forward and laid a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Steady, Mac, steady," he said quietly.

Mac nodded, wiping his hand across his face. Mitch squeezed his shoulder, and Mac, taking a shuddering breath, slowly stood up. Setting his jaw, and eyes glinting, he addressed the rest of the officers who were still standing in stunned disbelief at what they had just witnessed. Cold fury dripped from his voice, "Right, I want every goddamn piece of information that can be gotten from the very last person in this entire neighborhood. Anything anyone heard, even a sneeze that was out of place, I want to know about. Every vehicle that drove past or parked here in a 3 block radius. Every person who even ventured close to the Gasekis' house, I want to know about it. If there was so much as a leaf that looked out of place or suspicious, I want to know exactly what kind it was and how many veins it had and which tree it came from. You got it?"

A sense of angry purpose and focus rushed into the vacuum of silence, and the spell was broken. The sergeant who had met Mac and Mitch when they had first arrived on the scene, immediately started assigning canvass sectors and teams.

Mac turned to Mitch. "We need to find out everything we can before Major Case gets the investigation. We are _not_ getting taken off this." His eyes were ice cold and very dangerous.

Mitch nodded grimly, "I'm right with you, Mac. But they're going to say it's out of our division."

"Then we have to make it in our division," Mac said. "You said Narcs was specifically mentioned in the phone message that came in?"

"He said we were all responsible, some more so than others, and he'd make sure we'd all know what it was like. 'You arrogant fucks with your precious, self-righteous war' I think was how we were described."

"Any clue as to _what_ we're responsible for, or who is more so than others?" Mac asked, his stomach twisting at the thought of Claire and the kids being the target of some maniac's personal vendetta. He had no problem taking personal risk, but he was forced to admit that most of the time he simply shoved the possibility that his family could be in danger because of what he did, to the back of his brain and relegated it to an objective mathematical probability. Because he honestly didn't know what he'd do if they were ever harmed because of him.

Mitch shook his head, "Not from what he said over the phone. Although I'd have to assume Gaseki was, for some reason, part of the 'more'." His voice drifted off, and he wiped his hand over his face. "Damn," he said quietly, looking around.

"Where the hell is ETU?" Mac asked. There was nothing more to be learned on scene for the moment, and he was itching to get over to the precinct. Mac had a feeling that whatever was the motive behind the slaughter, lay in Gaseki's files, and his sense of urgency to get a firm hold of the case before the powers that be tried to snatch it from him, was growing.

"They should be here," Mitch said.

"I know they should be here," Mac growled. He glared in impatience as the Unit van finally pulled around the corner.

"A South Unit?" he asked in puzzlement. "Aren't we in North's coverage area? Holy fuck, no wonder it took them so long," he breathed. "Hey, what are you guys doing all the way up here?" he asked meeting the lead forensic detective half way. Mac felt his irritation vanish in an instant when he recognized who it was. "Well, well, Nick Buehrle. Look who decided to quit slumming and pay us a visit!"

"Nah, just thought we'd come show you North boys how it's done." Nick broke into a huge grin as he met Mac's outstretched hand and pulled him into a brief hug, "How ya doin' Mac?"

"I'm doing good," Mac replied, returning his friend's smile, and feeling a portion of the suffocating, twisting weight on his chest, lift. He stepped to the side, "Nick, this is my partner, Mitch Jarrell," he introduced, "Mitch, this is Nick Buehrle, so-called expert forensic detective."

Mitch shook Nick's hand. "Nice to meet you," he said. He gestured towards the van, "So are all the north units tied up?"

"Yes," Nick replied, suddenly looking very tired. "We've been running our asses off non-stop since I came on at 7pm. All of us have. It's insane." His tone turned somber, "What do you have for me, Mac? They said it was a triple and involved one of ours?"

"Four," Mac corrected him, swallowing hard. "It's Kevin. His family are all up in the house… he came back from being out after we were all on scene, and he…" Mac closed his eyes, the memory of Kevin raising the gun to his head and pulling the trigger only a few feet in front of him, replaying in his head.

"Fuck," Nick said quietly.

The three detectives ducked under the police tape as they headed towards the Gasekis' house. The grim heaviness returned as they approached where Kevin was lying with half of his head gone.

"Jesus," Nick breathed, kneeling beside the dead man. He motioned to one of the techs. "Kelsey, I want you to document and collect on this one," he said, "It was a witnessed suicide, but I don't want a microscopic crumb off his clothes to go un-collected and un-documented. You got that?" He took a deep breath and steeled himself, "Ok, Mac, show me the rest."

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Mac and Mitch drove in silence to the precinct station. It was now 1am, and Mac resisted the urge to call Claire and make sure she was ok, and hear her voice. His fingers absently ran over his phone in his pocket, somehow the knowledge that she "existed" through it, making her feel closer.

An ambulance blew past in the opposite direction, air horn blaring as the traffic slowly ambled to the side.

Mac closed his eyes and he leaned his head against the headrest, letting the blast from the air-conditioner blow over him and cool him off, drying the ends of his hair which were plastered to his neck and forehead.

The adrenaline of the scene left him, and with nothing to distract him or to focus on, the look of abject pain and hopelessness in Kevin's eyes as he raised the gun to his head, haunted him, replaying over and over in his head. Interspersed were flashes of the impossibly small body bags of the two children being wheeled out.

Beside him, Mitch swore angrily at a taxi which whipped out from the curb directly in front of them.

The city slid past, oblivious.

xxx

There was a hushed silence as Mac and Mitch walked into the station and were met by the Lieutenant of Kevin's squad. The news of what had happened, arriving ahead of the two detectives. Mac swore to himself. He'd hoped to at least get an idea of what cases Kevin had been working on recently to try to get some sort of an idea of who could possibly be out for revenge against him before the issue of who was going to be assigned to the case was brought up. The more momentum he had going into that discussion, the better off he'd be winning the argument.

Mac could feel the eyes of every officer and detective in the precinct on him. And they weren't all friendly. There were some who he knew would permanently dislike him for leaving Major Case and finding a new home in Narcotics. It hadn't been that he wasn't good at his job in the division, quite to the contrary. But eventually, dealing with the worst cases the city could offer up, and the seeming endless crime scene photos of victims who were barely old enough to remember the era of flip phones, wore him down. And the thing was, they weren't all 'innocent' victims either. Many had died with a knife or gun in their hand, vying to be the one in an interrogation room instead of the morgue.

Mac had seen more than his share of child victims and soldiers as a special forces recon Marine, and after five years in Major Case, asked to be transferred.

Narcotics suited him better. He liked the higher action level involved, and took certain satisfaction from the idea that he could hopefully prevent crimes and further victims from happening, instead of simply cleaning up the aftermath. But while he had remained friends with a few of the detectives from Major Case, most had not taken his departure kindly, viewing it as almost traitorous.

"Taylor. Jarrell," the Lt. greeted them curtly. "We need to talk."

Mac nodded, and he and Mitch followed the Lt. into his office.

The Lt. closed the door behind them, and went around behind his desk. "What. the. HELL is going on?" he asked.

"Kevin's dead," Mac said, keeping his face carefully neutral. "So are his wife and kids."

"Well no shit he's dead," the Lt. said, his voice starting to rise. "We got that info already. I mean," he stood up and placed his hands on the desk in front of him, "What the fuck are you two doing on the case and why the FUCK did you not call us in? In what part of any sort of universe does this even remotely fall in your jurisdiction? I have half a mind to write you both up for interfering with an investigation."

His patience already worn through by everything that had transpired that night, Mac felt his temper instantly flare.

"We were responding to a tip where we were specifically mentioned," he bit, voice dripping with barely contained fury. "At the time of response, we had no knowledge of the nature of the incident or what would transpire." Which was only very technically true. All that had initially been able to be traced, was the location of the tip, and Mitch had already been heading there when the first responding officers had found Kevin's family dead. But they _had_ known what they were headed to before they had arrived on scene.

"No, but you didn't call when you got there and found out, did you?" the Lt. returned sharply.

"No sir," Mitch said, keeping a careful hold on his temper as well.

"Lt.," Mac bit, "We simply wanted to move as quickly as possible on this. From the tip, it was clear that this guy has more of us as targets. I didn't want to hang around on scene and wait for your team to come out and have to go over everything again with them, while we could be back here figuring out what motive this butcher would have for singling out Gaseki and what ties anyone else could possibly have." The ice dagger of fear at the thought of Claire, the twins and Liam being on some sort of vigilante hit list, shot through Mac's chest. "Maybe we should have called you," he said, "But I made a judgment call that I'd make again."

"You want the goddamn case, don't you?" the Lt. said in stunned, infuriated disbelief.

"Yes, I do," Mac stated, "Whatever the motive this guy has, it involves more than just Kevin or your department. Besides," he continued, his voice quietly pointed, "It's not as if I don't know how your procedures work."

The Lieutenant took a deep breath, reining his own anger in at Mac's controlled brazenness. "You sure it's about the case, Mac, and not for personal reasons? You want to stick it to the division, is that it?"

Mac stepped closer to the desk and leaned his own hands against it, looking the Lt. straight in the eye. It took every last bit of self-control he had not to hit the Lt. His voice was quiet, but almost shook, and was deadly cold, "Kevin shot himself in front of me, Lt. He raised his gun to his head and blew his head off, mere feet from me. And there wasn't a fucking thing I could do about it. You're damn right this is personal. But it has _nothing_ to do with me."

The silent tension between the two was palpable as they held each other's eyes, waiting to see who would concede first.

The Lieutenant sat down heavily. "And just what do you want me to do, Mac? Hmm? How do you want me to go out there and tell my detectives that one of their own is dead and entire family slaughtered, and we're not even getting the investigation, which by rights should be ours anyway? Not to mention even _getting_ you permanently assigned?"

"Get me attached," Mac said, standing up, and knowing he'd won. "Officially assign Rodriguez, and liaison me and Mitch due to the fact that our division has been implicated as potential targets. I'll talk to my chief. I know he won't have a problem with it. And in the meantime, if you want to assign Rodriguez now, do it. But let us continue this investigation. The longer we take, the closer one of us is getting to being the next victim. Do you want to gamble with that, Lt.?"

The Lt. pointed one finger at him. "Don't push it, Taylor," he growled. "Alright, until you hear otherwise, Rodriguez and you two have it. What do you need?"

Some of the tension in Mac's chest released. "Gaseki's files and cases he worked on for the past year. Whatever happened to this guy, he blames us, and our best bet to figuring out what that is, lies in those files."

The Lt. slowly nodded. "Ok, Mac," he said. He stood up and walked back around his desk towards the door. He paused almost threateningly as he passed Mac, "Don't make me regret my decision."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** _Ok, this has got to the longest update and chapter I have ever written. I tried to find a spot to break it up, but it wasn't happening. So, hope you all don't mind a little bit of read :D _

_Again, all licensed characters belong to their respective creators, and all original characters are mine._

_Also, the song at the end really is a traditional Irish ballad that I absolutely LOVE. And if any of you don't know the song and are interested, my favorite rendition of it can be found here: www. youtube. com /watch?v=XhJp0W0ku2w (spaces put in otherwise it won't permit a link)  
><em>

_Huge thank you for reading! And please review! :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

"So, fill me in," Julian Rodriguez said as the three detectives waited for Kevin's case files.

Mac and Mitch glanced at each other.

"Well," Mitch spoke up with a slight cough, "I don't know how exactly we got roped into trying to track these calls down, but about three weeks ago the tip line started getting these calls. The guy never left any info and would always hang up before any trace could be established."

"But isn't that kind of the point of it?" Rodriguez asked slowly, "You know, that's why it's an _anonymous_ tip line?"

"Yeah but these weren't tips," Mac broke in. "They were threats. Pretty vague, just stating that 'we all deserved what was coming to us'." He leaned back against his desk. "At first they were just brushed off as coming from some nutjob or something as there was nothing else to make them a credible."

"But…" Rodriguez inserted as Mac paused.

"But," Mac continued, "Last week he started calling sometimes twice a day, sometimes more agitated sounding than at other times. But it was almost always the same thing: we were responsible and he'd make sure we knew what it was like."

"Sooo, I'm still not entirely following… How exactly did you guys get involved?" Rodriguez asked.

"The detective trying to track these calls is a friend of mine, and since I kinda owe him, he asked if we had some time to help him. But he ended up having to spend most of the day in court," Mitch gestured with his thumb over to Mac, "Then this evening, well, technically yesterday," Mitch said, glancing at his watch, "The guy called again, although this time he sounded significantly angrier and more agitated than previously, and he mentioned 'you arrogant fucks with your precious, self-righteous war'."

"And I'm assuming this was the first time he vaguely implicated your department," Rodriguez said.

Mitch nodded. "He was also on the phone longer, so despite the fact that it was a disposable cell, we managed to trace it to a 4-block radius that included Kevin's place. He was the only cop living in that immediate area, so we dispatched units to his house immediately, and while I was on the way, I got the call of what they found." Mitch swallowed hard.

"He picked me up on his way there," Mac said.

"Okay," Rodriguez said with a deep breath. "You know, I understand," he continued, "But you do know you guys coming in on this case like you are is going to cause quite a bit tension for you."

"Yeah I know," Mac said quietly, "But you know you'd do the same, Julian." Rodriguez was one of the more even-keeled detectives in homicide, and was one of the few who was still on cordial speaking terms with him. Which was why he had asked the lieutenant if Julian could be the one assigned to the case.

Rodriguez nodded at Mac as a couple of officers came up, their arms loaded with boxes and files.

"So you're thinking that whoever killed Gaseki's family was from a case he worked where there was some collaboration with you guys? Well, not you two specifically," Rodriguez amended, "But your department."

"Exactly," Mitch said, handing each of them a not insignificant share of the files.

"Well then, let's get started," Rodriguez said.

xxxx

Six hours later, Mac's eyes were burning with exhaustion, and they had a combined stack of possible cross referenced cases and suspects that was at least as large if not larger than eliminated ones. Mac felt his patience start to crack. He finished the last of his lukewarm coffee, grimacing at the temperature and picked up another folder.

Mitch glanced over at Mac. He could see the strain on his partner's face and in his body language, despite Mac doing his best to mask it.

"You alright?" he asked Mac quietly.

Mac took a deep breath as he opened the file and started to scan the report. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said.

Mitch looked skeptically at him but didn't press him further.

"You got anything?" Mac asked, a slight hopeless edge to his voice.

"A whole bunch of possibly maybe's," Rodriguez answered with a sigh, dropping the folder he'd been looking at onto one of the piles.

The three detectives had come to the almost immediate and near ovbious conclusion that they were looking for a revenge killing of some sort. Mac got up and poured himself another cup of coffee and glanced over the case in his hand. Another low-level drug dealer, along with his brother, found shot, with all involved or related people either currently in lock-up or moved to another city.

Another dead end. Mac felt his frustration boil over. He threw the folder against the side of the desk. "Godfuckingdammit!" he exclaimed, putting his hands on his head and dropping his chin to his chest. He took several long breaths in an effort to calm himself down.

"Mac, go home," Mitch said. "Go home, see Claire and the kids," he continued almost gently.

His deep desire to do exactly what his partner had ordered him to do, fought with his sense of duty and personal obligation to his fallen fellow officer and friend, and Mac opened his mouth to protest.

But Mitch cut in firmly. "Go," he said, in a voice that left no room for argument. He nodded towards Rodriguez, "We got it covered. I'm going to grab a couple hours sleep here at the precinct and I'll call you if we find out anything, or if Nick calls with anything they found."

Mac looked over at Rodriguez, who indicated his agreement with Mitch.

Mac nodded wordlessly, and running his hands through his hair and across his face, he wearily left the precinct.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

The twins were sitting at the table in the dining room, each with their own coloring book and sharing a bucket of crayons. Claire emerged from the hallway looking utterly worn out.

"Mac!" she exclaimed, "You're home! I didn't hear you come in."

Mac heard faint fussing from the back bedroom, and Claire sighed. Mac took in her messy hair, the slump of her shoulders and the tired look in her eyes.

"Rough morning?" he asked gently, undoing the last velcro of his Kevlar and placing it on the floor, just seeing her, filling him with a warmth that overshadowed the horror of the night before.

Claire sighed again, glancing towards the bedroom and over to the twins. "Yeah," she said, "Liam was up half the night fussing. I don't think he's feeling well, and this is the first time I've gotten him mostly asleep. _And_," she took a heavy breath, "It's not even lunch-time and I've had to put Brianna in time-out three times already and Emily twice."

She looked totally frazzled, and especially after the emotional toll of the night, Mac felt a surge of love and affection to her that was beyond words. He walked over to her and pulled her tightly into his arms. Claire lay her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist.

He held on to her in a way that he hadn't in a long time. There was a desperateness to it of things he couldn't put into words. "Mac, what happened last night?" Claire asked him quietly, clasping his waist more firmly.

Mac squeezed his eyes closed and wondered where on earth to begin and what exactly to tell her about what had happened.

But just then there were shouts of, "Nooooo! _I_ was using that one!"… "NO! It's _my_ turn!"… "It's _mine_!"… "_Em i lyyyy…!_"

Mac looked up and Claire lifted her head from his shoulder in time to see the twins start fighting across the table over a crayon that apparently they both wanted to use at the same time. From down the hallway, Liam's intermittent fussing turned into full-blown crying at the noise of Emily and Brianna shouting at each other. Claire dropped her forehead back onto Mac's shoulder in despair. Mac kissed the top of her head. "I got this," he said, "You go see if you can get Liam back down."

Claire looked up at him and into his shadowed eyes. "You sure?" she asked.

"Yeah," Mac said. He kissed her gently and nodded down the hall.

Claire smiled at him and ran her hand along his chest and down his arm as she went to try to put Liam back to sleep.

Mac gazed across the living room at the dining table where the twins had reduced each other to angry tears, screeches and hair pulling. He took a deep breath and counted to five before crossing to them in four long strides. He took each of them by an arm and sat them firmly in their chairs. "Enough!" he said, fixing them with a stern glare.

Unaware that he had come home and taken completely by surprise, they stared at him in silence before melting back into tears and trying to talk over each other in an attempt to lay the blame squarely on the other sibling.

"Hey. Hey!" he interrupted them loudly, "Enough! I don't want to hear it. Emily, go to your room. Brianna, go sit on the couch downstairs. I'll be with each of you in a minute." He released their arms.

"But daddy…!"

"Go," said Mac sternly and in a voice they didn't dare disobey.

They slid off their chairs and disappeared to their respective locations, lips quivering, and rubbing their eyes.

Mac leaned his hands on the table and closed his own eyes. He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Pushing himself back up, he turned and opened the doorway to the twins' bedroom where Emily was sitting on the floor on the other side of her bed. He walked over and knelt down beside her. Flashbacks to when he was little and absolutely convinced he was going to get into horrible trouble over something he _knew_ he shouldn't have done, made him almost smile. "Emily?" he said in a low voice, "I'm going to go talk to your sister a minute. I'll be right back, ok?"

Emily nodded at him, her eyes still bright with tears.

Mac kissed her on her forehead before getting up and closing the door gently behind him. Grabbing Brianna's purple Dora the Explorer sleeping bag and a spare pillow out of the front closet along with an armful of books and a couple of her favorite stuffed animals, Mac headed downstairs.

"Daddy, I don't want another time-out," Brianna said, voice wobbling, as soon as Mac appeared around the corner.

Mac placed his load on one end of the couch and sat next to his daughter. He put his arm around her shoulder. "I'm not going to give you a time-out," he said. He snugged her to his side. "Mommy says you've been having a bad day."

Brianna nodded her head miserably.

"Can you tell me why?" Mac continued. He could almost see the gears in Brianna's head work as she struggled to try to put things into words.

"I don't know, Daddy," Brianna said, tears re-accumulating.

Mac hadn't really expected an answer. He vaguely remembered back to when he was four, and while he certainly felt very specific emotions, understanding them hadn't even remotely been in the picture.

"Hey, it's okay," Mac said quietly, giving his daughter a little squeeze. "We all have bad days. But you know you can't fight with your sister," he continued, letting a slight edge creep into his voice.

Brianna nodded tearfully. She looked up at him. "I don't want a time-out, Daddy," she said again, her eyes bright and shimmering.

"Hey, I told you I wasn't going to give you one. Remember?"

"Yes," Brianna told him, clearly not entirely believing that she wasn't going to get in trouble for fighting.

"Sometimes," said Mac, looking into his daughter's face, "Sometimes we just need to reset things a little bit. I think what both of you need is some quiet time by yourselves. So what we're going to do is set up like a little camp site down here, ok?"

"A camp site?" Brianna asked.

"mhmm," Mac said. "I have your Dora sleeping bag and a pillow, and books, and Monkey and Twitchy, and you guys are going to have a nice quiet time down here for a little while. You want to help me get your sleeping bag out?"

Brianna helped Mac spread her sleeping bag on the couch, and Mac tucked her in with Monkey on one side and Twitchy, her stuffed rabbit, on the other. He placed the pile of books next her as he knelt down and brushed her hair out of her face. "Alright, sweetie pumpkin," he said, "You just chill out for a little while and read to Twitchy and Monkey, ok?"

"Ok," Brianna said, hugging Monkey to her chest.

Mac kissed her on the cheek and headed upstairs.

After repeating the process with Emily, Mac closed the twins' bedroom door and leaned against it wearily. He ran his hand through his hair, lifting it off his forehead and away from his eyes as Claire came out of Liam's room.

"Is he asleep?" Mac asked in a whisper.

"Sort of," Claire replied. She looked around as the resounding silence of the house struck her. "What did you do?" she asked Mac, "Give them tranquilizer or something?"

Mac snorted. "I _wish_ it was that easy," he said. "They're both in 'quiet-time'. I think they might end up napping here pretty quick."

"Are they both in there?" Claire asked, indicating the twins' bedroom.

Mac shook his head, "I set Brianna up with a 'camp site' on the couch downstairs with her sleeping bag."

"I bet she loved that," Claire said.

"Yeah, I think so," Mac replied, recalling Brianna's complete change in her outlook on life as she helped him spread out her sleeping bag. But he was too tired and drained to muster any enthusiasm. He felt completely spent.

Claire took in the haunted look which had crept back into her husband's face and his exhaustion which spoke to more than just a missed night of sleep at work. She stepped in to him and laid her hand on his chest, "Mac, what happened last night?" she asked, repeating the question from earlier.

Mac briefly closed his eyes before meeting the gentle, concerned ones of Claire's. Maybe it was because he didn't give any pre-thought to his reply, or maybe he was just too tired to throw up all his automatic filters and walls that were as much to protect his family as himself, but whatever the reason, he found the words coming without thinking about them.

"You remember Kevin Gaseki?" he started.

"Sure," Claire replied. Kevin had been one of Mac's closer colleagues and friends when he was still in homicide, the two families getting together on occasion. And even after Mac had transferred to Narcotics, she knew that Mac and Kevin had stayed in fairly close touch.

"His family was murdered," Mac said, his entire body seeming to crumble in on itself.

Claire raised one hand to her mouth in absolute shock. "All of them?" she asked in horror.

Mac nodded, a dark morass of emotions swirling through him. His voice shook, "She was still holding the baby, Claire. But he… they were both…" Mac couldn't continue, the memory of the scene emptying the air from his lungs. He slid down the wall and rested his head on his arms on his drawn up knees.

"What about Kevin?" Claire finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"He came back after we were all on scene. He had been out picking up pop and ice cream for root beer floats," Mac said in a quiet voice, the rest of the story telling itself of its own accord. "When he realized what had happened…" Mac drew a deep breath, "He shot himself, ten feet in front of me." He wiped his face with his hand, visions of his friend collapsing to the ground in a spray of blood, flashing through his head. He raised his eyes to Claire's face. "I couldn't stop him," he said, his voice strangled and barely audible. "I was that close and I couldn't stop him."

Claire could hardly take the tortured look in Mac's face. She knelt down beside him and pulled him close, running her fingers through his dark, wavy hair. Mac collapsed onto her, resting his forehead in the small of her neck and taking long, shuddering breaths, trying to stamp out the horror of Kate and Zach's decimated bodies and the the bloody bedrooms.

They sat, and Claire held him for a long while in the hallway in the now-quiet of the house.

Eventually the gut-wrenching rawness of what he'd seen, started to edge its way back. Mac felt himself start to relax and having been up for almost 36 hours straight, his body's demand for sleep became almost overwhelming.

"I'm going to go take a shower," he said.

Claire nodded and sat him up. She held his handsome, exhausted face in her hands. "I love you," she said, her eyes never leaving his. He didn't say anything. He just leaned in and kissed her, kissed her with every emotion tearing through him that he couldn't put into words.

"I love you too," he whispered as he pulled away.

Claire watched as he wearily pushed himself up and disappeared into the bathroom. And she ached for him.

xxx

Mac pulled off his t-shirt and jeans as he ran the water hot and the bathroom mirror started to fog over with steam. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and stepped into the shower. He hadn't been this rattled in a long time, and it was in a way he had never had to deal with before. Fear for himself and his own safety he was more than used to, although picturing the grief his family would go through if he was ever killed twisted his insides painfully. But it wasn't just an unknown child or wife who had been murdered this time. This time he couldn't try to objectify the victims in order to cope and separate himself from them. He knew them. He knew Kevin. He had played catch with Aubrey. He had held Zach when the boy was only a week old. He leaned his hands against the wall and let the water run in his face, across his shoulders and down his back. His mind flew to Emily and Brianna tucked in with their favorite stuffed animals and dolls. To Liam in his crib only a room over. To Claire who was probably lounging on the couch with her laptop and enjoying the peace of the house. And he felt an icy fear unlike anything he'd known shake him to his absolute core at the thought of them being ripped from him. He dropped his head and let his streaming hair fall into his eyes as he tried to control his spinning thoughts.

Eventually he turned the water off and stepped out, shivering slightly as he dried himself off and ran a towel through his hair. He paused as he thought he heard a small sound from the other side of the wall, followed by half-awake fussing. Mac hurriedly pulled on the pair of lounge pants he had taken into the bathroom with him, and opened the door. Claire had indeed been in the living room on her laptop and was headed down the hall as Mac stepped out and waved her off.

"Mac, go to bed. You look ready to collapse, yourself," Claire said reproachfully.

But Mac simply gave her a brief kiss, turned her around, and shooed her back to the living room. He really did feel as though he'd collapse any minute, but he needed to hold his baby boy.

"You're lucky I can't say 'no' to you when you're dressed like that," Claire said, turning towards him and walking backwards down the hall.

"Like what?" Mac asked innocently as he opened Liam's bedroom door.

"With no shirt on and your hair all wet like that," Claire replied.

Mac didn't say anything and simply waved her off with an embarrassed, dismissive gesture before disappearing into Liam's bedroom. He went over to his son's crib and picked him up. But Liam continued somewhere between fussing and crying, his face the absolute picture of misery. "What is it little guy?" he asked as Liam continued his protests into Mac's naked shoulder. Mac held his son's head close and rocked him gently. A slight edge of concern crept into him as, despite his persistent fussing, Liam otherwise lay fairly limply against his father's chest, seemingly drained of any energy, and his head felt warm under Mac's hand.

Mac looked down at his baby son, "You running a fever?" he asked him. Liam continued his half-hearted cries, and Mac felt a surge of love and pain for his boy flood through him. He hated seeing his kids sick, especially so little and helpless and utterly unable to comprehend the discomfort and pain they were experiencing. He'd give anything to be sick in place of his boy. "Come on," Mac told Liam gently.

He carried his son into the bathroom and after confirming he was indeed running a low-grade temperature, Mac retrieved the infant Tylenol from the cabinet above the sink. Holding Liam in one arm, and from much experience, he filled the dropper with one and half times as much of the medicine as he needed. He was right in his over-estimation.

"Oh come on," he protested to his son, who expertly twisted his head from side to side to avoid the medicine dropper. "It's not even the nasty cherry flavor that I was _lucky_ to get when I was a kid!" But Liam clearly didn't believe he had it better off than his father had. It always amazed Mac the Houdini-like ability of children to evade such things, and by the time all was said and done, bubble-gum flavored medicine was all over his shoulder and Liam's face. But after a couple attempts of trying to spit it out, Liam eventually got the required dose.

"There, see? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Mac said, wiping off his shoulder and his son's face.

But Liam wasn't buying it, rubbing his eyes and fussing, his face screwed up, clearly deciding that bubble-gum flavored Tylenol wasn't really any better than cherry.

"Aw, was it really that awful?" Mac asked.

Liam answered him with a tired wail that turned into a cough as he dropped his head and small body back against Mac's chest.

"Poor little guy," Mac murmured as he rested his cheek against the top of Liam's head and held him close in both arms.

He couldn't begin to explain it, Claire was and always would be his refuge and what he'd do without her he had no idea, but in that moment, there was something about the simplicity and totality of taking care of his 6 month old son that did more to chase away and heal the darkness in his mind and soul than anything else. He felt the horror that had been tearing him apart, fade to grief. And while he still felt a thrill of fear for his family, it no longer emptied his lungs and froze his heart in his chest.

"Come on," he whispered to Liam, and carried his exhausted son with him into his bedroom. Liam looked as wiped out from a near-sleepless night as his father felt, and Mac lay back on his bed, Liam lying on his bare chest. He kissed the top of Liam's head. While both girls had taken rather after Claire with their light brown hair and blue eyes, even at only 6 months old, Liam had already inherited his father's mop of dark hair.

Mac watched his tired, sick son's back rise and fall with each rapid breath, and felt the weight of Liam's small body against his own chest. He felt a sense of utter peace come over him. He gently rubbed his son's back as Liam's cries grew increasingly half-hearted and intermittent, and sang one of his favorite Irish ballads in a low voice, easing his infant son into sleep.

"_Of all the money that 'ere I had, I spent it in good company.  
>And all the harm that ever I done, alas it was to none but me.<br>And all I've done, for want of wit, to memory now I can't recall.  
>So fill to me the parting glass. Good night and joy be to you all.<em>

_So fill to me the parting glass, and drink a health what'ere befall.  
>And gently rise and softly call, 'Good night and joy be to you all.' "<em>

Mac felt Liam relax and his breathing calm. He stroked the ends of Liam's hair that lay against the soft skin of his baby boy's neck and continued in a low, quiet voice.

"_Of all the comrades that ever I had, they're sorry for my going away.  
>And all the sweethearts there 'ere I had, they'd wish me one more day to stay.<br>But since it fell into my lot, that I should rise and you should not.  
>I'll gently rise and softly call, 'Good night and joy be to you all.' "<em>

_So fill to me the parting glass, and drink a health what'ere befall.  
>And gently rise and softly call, 'Good night and joy be to you all.' "<em>

Liam's small breaths were warm against his chest, and between the effects of the medicine and the comfort of his father's arms, Mac felt his son finally drop into a true sleep. His own eyes drifted close, and his one hand coming to rest on his baby's back, the other which had playing with Liam's hair, slowly dropping limply to his side. Mac's cheek rested gently against the top of Liam's head, and he too fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** _So I said I'd get back to this story and I'm finally doing good by that promise. However, particularly since I've had my own child in the intervening time since I last worked on this, the reality of the darkness of the story has definitely hit home a little bit more so I've had to psych myself up for what is coming throughout the rest of the chapters (yes, it is all mapped and planned out already). I must say though, it is immensely fun to write Mac in a non-CSI capacity yet keep him in-character. Hope you all enjoy it, and thank all of you in advance for any reviews or follows!_

_And just for any quick refresher - ETU stands for Evidence Technician Unit (what Chicago Police Department calls their CSI), Mac and Mitch are partners in narcotics and Julian Rodriguez is a homicide detective and Nick Buehrle is the head of the South ETU dvision.  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Mac jumped as his phone rang painfully loudly and suddenly on the nightstand next to him. He jerked awake, his heart hammering. He'd been yanked out of such a deep sleep that it took him a second or two to orient himself and calm down his heart rate which had instantly skyrocketed. He tilted his chin down to look at Liam who was still in a dead sleep on his chest. Apparently neither of them had moved a muscle. Mac realized with a twinge of guilt that for safety's sake he probably shouldn't have fallen asleep with Liam still lying on him. But they had both desperately needed each other, and in his absolute exhaustion, Mac had simply gone with moment. He squinted briefly at his watch. It was one in the afternoon. He'd had a grand total of three hours of sleep.

Keeping one hand wrapped around Liam so he didn't slide off his chest, Mac reached his other arm across and fumbled for his phone. "Taylor," he answered, trying to keep his voice from sounding like he'd just woken up.

"_Mac? It's Mitch."_

Mac's brain instantly dragged itself from still somewhat bleary into the realm of properly awake. "Hey. What's going on?" he asked his partner. Liam stirred at the sound of his voice but didn't wake up. Mac lay his hand gently on his baby's head and eased him back into a totally relaxed state.

"_Sorry to wake you up…"_ damn, he had noticed, Mac thought, _"…but Buehrle has his preliminary report written up and wants to give it to us in person."_

Now Mac really was fully awake. "Why in person?" he asked.

"_I don't know,"_ Mitch answered, _"He didn't say."_

Mac looked back down at Liam whose eyes were still closed in sleep, but with cheeks that were still abnormally flushed and Mac thought his head was starting to feel warm again.

"_How soon do you think you can get over here?" _Mitch continued.

"Forty-five minutes?" Mac guessed. He didn't particularly want to leave just now. His own need for sleep was fairly inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but he wasn't keen on leaving while Liam was obviously still sick. But the thought of whoever had killed Kevin's family being out there and free and choosing his next target and not knowing who that next target was, filled him with a distinct sense of urgency and an irrepressible trickle of fear.

Liam woke as Mac got up, but it was just as well as Mac took the opportunity to give him more medicine and fix a bottle while Claire changed his pajamas which were damp from sweat both from sleeping on Mac and the fever he was running.

"Where are the girls?" Mac asked Claire as he plucked the bottle out of the bowl of hot water where it had been warming while he got dressed.

"At the Nameth's," Claire answered, referencing one of their neighbors who had a couple children around Emily and Brianna's age, "Michelle called and said she was doing a cupcake decorating afternoon and wondered if the twins wanted to come over."

"She voluntarily offered to deal with four 4 and 5 year olds together with sugar and icing?" Mac asked incredulously. He didn't think he could handle the hyperactivity and mess involved in such a venture.

"Hey," said Claire holding up a hand in agreement, "If she's a glutton for that kind of thing, I'm not going to complain."

Mac chuckled as Claire took the bottle from his hand and settled with Liam on the couch. He grabbed his keys off the counter. "Nope, I'm not going to either," he said, sliding his badge on his belt. He leaned down and kissed Claire goodbye before laying a gentle hand on Liam's head and wishing he could wave a magic wand and make his baby boy better. "I'll call you later," he told Claire.

She nodded. "When are you going to be back?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly, "Probably not until late night tonight or really early tomorrow. I'll try to make it tonight so I can take care of him," he nodded towards Liam, "And you can sleep." He felt the conflict of wanting to take care of his family and personally watch over them, clash with his urgent compulsion to get the case solved.

Claire looked at Mac's tired eyes and the strain that hadn't left his shoulders. She grabbed his hand as he turned to leave. He halted and looked back at her, and in that split second of unmasked vulnerability she read the grief and fear in his face that he had let himself show when he thought she was no longer looking. It made her sick thinking about what he had told her had happened to Kevin's wife and their two little kids. And then to have Kevin shoot himself right in front Mac? She couldn't imagine what her husband was going through after witnessing everything he had the night before.

"Mac, don't worry about me or us. I'll call my dad," she continued, "He's watching Liam tomorrow anyway while I'm at work, and I know he wouldn't mind coming over and playing Grampa a little early if I need a hand. You do whatever you need to to bring this person in," she told him in a quiet, intense voice.

Mac looked down briefly before pressing his lips together and nodding once, her understanding of the complexity of his conflict giving him the resolution, clarity and peace of mind he had needed. "I'll call you later," he said quietly with a rush of gratitude that he couldn't begin to express, giving her another kiss before placing a gentle one on Liam's forehead as his baby was tiredly and half-heartedly sucking at the bottle Claire was giving him. "Get better little guy," Mac said, running his fingers through Liam's sweaty hair and making it stick on end, "Daddy will see you soon."

xxxxxxxxxxx

Mitch was waiting for Mac when he got to the precinct. If his partner had slept, it was obvious Mitch certainly hadn't gone home. Mac wordlessly handed him the unopened can of Monster he held in his hand, feeling rather guilty for the brief luxury of the shower he'd had, his own bed and a change of clothes.

"Thank you," Mitch said gratefully, accepting the energy drink from his partner while Mac popped the tab open on his own.

"You get some sleep?" Mac asked.

"Couple hours," Mitch replied.

"Same," Mac answered, "Liam's sick though."

"Poor kid," Mitch said, "A cold?"

"I dunno," Mac said, "He's got a slight cough and a fever so I hope it's nothing more than that." Liam had been born nine weeks early and although he'd been as healthy a baby as he could pretty much be and had had no problems to this point, Mac lived with the constant dread of knowing his son was more susceptible to respiratory illness than most babies and prayed that nothing serious would happen until his son got older and stronger. He'd spent more than his share of nights at the hospital, unable to do anything more than hold his impossibly tiny baby and will him to health, and did not want to go through that again and possibly worse.

"He's a strong kid," Mitch reassured Mac, "He'll be just fine."

Mac nodded his thanks. "Did Buehrle say he was coming over here, or are we headed downtown?" he asked, changing the subject.

"We're going downtown," Mitch replied, standing up from where he was sitting on the edge of his desk, "And no, before you ask, I still don't know anything more than what I told you on the phone."

"Where's Rodriguez?"

"Right here. I hope you got me coffee and not one of those."

Mac looked over his shoulder to see Julian Rodriguez pointing at the energy drinks he and Mitch were holding. He grinned and produced a tall, insulted covered cup from where he had sat it on Mitch's desk. "How could I possibly forget your worst addiction?" he asked, "Especially since I'll never understand how you drink so much of it straight through the summer."

"Oh come on, Mac, coffee is the lifeblood of this job!" Julian answered with only slightly exaggerated passion.

"_Caffeine_ is the lifeblood of this job," Mac corrected, wryly, holding up his can of liquid energy.

Julian snorted, "And sugar and taurine and whatever other crap and chemicals they put in those things. I'm telling you, drink coffee, you'll be much healthier."

"And have ulcers and bad breath," Mac shot back.

"If you two ladies are quite finished arguing, can we get going?" Mitch interjected.

"God, I'd forgotten how much of a pain in the ass you could be, Taylor," Julian said as the three headed out to the parking lot.

"It's my specialty," Mac replied with a grin, "And I call 'not driving'."

"Not driving!" Mitch echoed instantly.

"Goddamn it," Julian glowered with a sigh as Mac smugly handed him the keys to the car.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mac had spent quite a bit of time with the ETU guys when he was still in homicide, but working narcotics meant that he hadn't been to the lab portion of the downtown station in quite some time. The place had always intrigued him, though, and he'd always liked the atmosphere and feel. Given that he'd majored in chemistry in college, he had almost put in for one of the ETU detective positions back when he'd first gotten his detective badge, but at the time, homicide had held more allure for him and more potential for advancement. Still, he felt the part of him that had spent hours and hours in a lab stir every time he came here.

He pushed open the door to one of the conference rooms where Nick Beuhrle was already waiting, Mitch and Julian right behind him. Nick also looked as though he'd gotten minimal, if any, sleep and Mac, looking around, suddenly felt like they each could use an entire pot of coffee. And they weren't even close to finishing the day. It wasn't just the lack of sleep. Any light-hearted banter they engaged in was purely an attempt to maintain some sense of emotional normalcy and stave off thinking too specifically and constantly about the horrificness of the case. Now, however, there was no more avoiding its stark reality, and it showed on all their faces. And although he still toyed with the idea of someday transferring to ETU, right now, Mac was reminded why he was sometimes exceedingly glad he didn't have Nick's job. He wasn't sure if he could have spent his time as engrossed and _in_ the crime scene as Nick and his team had had to and would still have to. The stress showed in Nick's eyes and the tightness in his shoulders and suddenly Mac also found a suffocating weight crash over him as the memory of Kevin's suicide unbiddenly replayed itself in his head.

"I hate to bring you bad news," Nick started as Mac settled into a chair, "But I'm afraid that so far you're looking for a ghost."

Mac felt his heart sink. He had been hoping the reason Nick wanted to give his report in person was that he would have some lead for them to follow. That didn't seem to be the case.

"Believe me," Nick continued, "It wasn't for lack of evidence of this guy. We have fingerprints, shell casings, trace, boot tracks, caliber and type of weapons, and a preliminary reconstruction, but absolutely no return of anything in the system by way of an id."

"Nothing?" Mitch echoed.

"Nothing," Nick confirmed, "Obviously we have more processing to do and a couple more databases to run through, but no, no matches to anyone."

"But he intimated he has a pretty significant connection to Kevin and the department," Julian said.

"I know," Nick replied, "If it wasn't for those messages I'd be almost tempted to say you've got the likes of a new, potential serial killer on your hands, but this was anything but a random slaughter."

Mac winced at visceralness of the choice of word Nick used.

"I trust Kevin's partner has a detail on him?" Nick queried.

"First thing we did," Mac affirmed.

"Good, because I hate to tell you this, but beyond the hint in this guy's message that he has multiple targets, I can guarantee it."


End file.
